The 124th Hunger Games: Bloodwater
by Illuin
Summary: My first ever SYOT. Very excited about writing this. Reaping have now begun!
1. Chapter 1

When President Cain walked into his office there was a woman sat behind his desk. Her feet were tucked up under her and all her concentration was focussed on the book in front of her as she lounged, perfectly relaxed, in his chair. As he entered she made no move to acknowledge him but simply carried on reading, her dark eyes flicking across each page.

The President stepped forward, a smile forming on his face. It was not a pleasant smile. It was the kind of smile that said "Get out of my chair now or I'll make you an Avox. Oh and quite probably have you executed as well. So move." It was a look that spoke volumes. He cleared his throat.

Amazingly, she still didn't look up. Instead she raised a hand in an unmistakable 'wait a minute' gesture, still staring down at the page. The President moved to the centre of the room and waited, deadly smile still in place.

The silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity but in fact it was just over a minute before the woman shut the book with a snap. She grinned.

'What did you want?' she asked, raising her eyes to the President.

Who was stood in front of her, a knife hovering less than a centimetre from her right eye.

'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just kill you now,' he asked softly.

To her credit, she didn't even blink. 'Oh you don't want to do that,' she answered lightly. 'After all, I'm Phaidra Lyce.'

The knife didn't move.

'I'm your new Head Gamemaker.'

There was a pause. Then the President stepped back, seating himself opposite her, the knife still toying with the knife held loosely held in his hand.

'There are still many candidates to consider for such a coveted position. Tell me, why should I choose you?'

At that, Phaidra smiled. 'Because I have an idea that no one else will have.'

She slid a piece of paper across the desk towards him. He read it. Quietly he was impressed but nothing showed on his face as he placed the paper back down on the desk.

'Very well then. It looks like you've got yourself a job.'

She smiled again and slid another stack of paper to him.

'Here are the other Gamemakers I propose.'

He flicked through and then nodded. 'Very well. I hope for your sake that you do not fail.'

She stood up to leave. Halfway to the door she turned.

'I was serious about that idea you know.'

Cain nodded and turned back to the files in his hand. Smiling, Phaidra strode out of the room.

**A/N: So, I'm writing a SYOT. I'm quite excited about this. Details to submit are on my profile.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Phaidra Lyce sat at her desk, book in hand, and surreptitiously watched the other Gamemakers as they worked around her. They had been a team for just under a year now and their first Games was almost here. She looked around at her team and a feeling of pride rose within her.

At the main computer was Storm Mae-Guild, Phaidra's best friend of ten years and resident technical genius. Her long slim fingers flew across the keys, the movement making the black tattoos that swirled from her shoulders to her elbows appear to move. Phaidra had known Storm long before this project and she had known that the woman would jump at the chance to become a Gamemaker, particularly one with as much responsibility as arena designer.

Leaning over Storm's shoulder was Nayda Silver, her black hair twisted out of the way as usual as she stared at the screen. Tall and athletic, Nayda was a genius mutt designer and she often worked with Storm to incorporate her plans into the arena. Phaidra knew that the two of them were going over the final details of the arena, checking and double checking for any possible mistakes.

Opposite them was Calantha Merin, deeply engrossed in a video conference with the Discrtict Escorts, briefing them on the upcoming Reapings. Calantha was the youngest Gamemaker but also one of the most skilled. Stunningly beautiful and extremely charismatic, she served as the Gamemaker's liason with others, getting funding, calling in favours and generally smoothing over their relationship with the outside world. If Phaidra wanted any job other than Head Gamemaker, it would be Calantha's but she knew than she wouldn't be able to do it half as well as the other woman did. Calantha seemed to able to effortlessly make friends and get people to give her exactly what she wanted.

Sonea Lothran and Athela Pine were sat together, setting up the feed from each of the cameras as they were installed in the new arena and linking them to the touchscreen displays in front of them. Phaidra leaned back in her chair as she watched them, puzzling as she always did over Athela's attitude. The redhead never seemed to put much effort into anything and Phaidra couldn't tell whether it was because of boredom or genuine dislike for the Games. She hoped it wasn't the latter as she didn't want to have to explain to the President that she'd been wrong about her Gamemakers. Athela looked at her, her shimmering eyes meeting Phaidra calculating gaze. They held the contact for a minute and then Athela turned her attention back to her task and Phaidra switched her focus to Sonea. To a casual observer, Sonea would probably appear slightly mad but, Phaidra reflected to herself, was in actual fact probably the sanest of them all. Where all of the others had a carefully veiled bloodthirstiness, all the madness in Sonea was on the surface. It might have surprised the others that she had been picked as a Gamemaker but Phaidra knew exactly what she was doing. Sometimes Phaidra had to admit that it was nice to have someone to pull them back from plans that were just a little bit too extreme.

If Sonea was almost sane then Iole Faine was the complete opposite. Iole was seated at a computer in the corner, typing slowly her plans for...well, it could be anything. Iole was almost always listening to music, using a pair of old-tech headphones. She was quiet, hardly ever speaking but some of the ideas that she sent to Phaidra were, to say the least, disturbing. She'd decided on Iole's inclusion however, because while having an insane Gamemaker was a risk, sometimes a risk was all you had. So far, the risk was paying off.

Phaidra looked at her Gamemakers and smiled a small, satisfied smile. This Games was going to be the best Games there had ever been. She was sure of it.

**A/N: Just a filler chapter whilst I wait for tributes. I though I'd start to introduce the Gamemakers to you. Every Gamemaker is based on a real person I know so if you guys are reading this, I hope you recognise yourself. Or not...I'll develop them some more soon.**

**Still accepting tributes-please submit!  
**


	3. Chapter 3 - Reaping 1&2

**Sorry for the delay... :( I've decided to post the Reaping two at a time because I find that if too many are posted at once, I get confused as to who's from which District. Enjoy! **

**DISTRICT 1**

**Female**

'Jemima Elaine Twillby, you are named after the strongest woman I know. Your grandmother was a great Victor from this District, brave and fearless. But she was a different person. Where she loved the Games, you hate them. Where she would fight, you will not. But never forget that that makes you even stronger. That unwillingness to fight makes you better than others who will kill to achieve their ends. Never forget how high a dove can soar. Never forget how much I love you. And never forget that, if you are Reaped today, you _will_ come home.'

Jemima smiled at her father as he finished the speech that he made every year on Reaping Day. She almost knew it by heart for now but she always listened, storing the words carefully in her heart, just in case they were needed.

It was true though, she reflected as she brushed her hair. She hated violence in every form wouldn't hurt even a fly. The Games epitomized everything that she believed to be wrong and every year the death of twenty-three children served only to strengthen her hatred.

Jemima left the house and began the long walk to the square, still thinking. Where her twin sister had spent almost every evening training at the Academy, Jemima had never set foot in the building. Her love of her sister only overcame her pacifist nature enough to help Naomi sneak out to train without their father knowing but not enough to train with her.

She missed Naomi. As she rounded the corner, the sunlight burst through the clouds, causing the uniforms of the two patrolling Peacekeepers to glow brilliantly white.

She remembered the last time she'd seen uniforms so bright, as the half a dozen Peacekeepers stood round Naomi's limp form had still been landing blow after blow on her sister. She remembered adjusting to life without Naomi, the feeling that someone had ripped a hole in her heart, the bittersweet feeling she still got every time she remembered her.

She was staring at the Peacekeepers, memories flooding her mind when an arm slipped round her waist and she looked up into the warm brown eyes of Demetra, her girlfriend. She felt her feeling of loss subside as Demetra's infectious grin made her smile too.

Demetra reached out her hand, lightly touching the heart shaped pendant that hung around Jemima's neck.

'You still wear it,' she smiled.

In response Jemima reached up and her fingertips brushed an identical pendant around Demetra's neck.

'Just because it's been almost a year since you gave it to me doesn't mean I don't wear it any more,' she said. 'And anyway, you're still wearing yours.'

Demetra brought her hand up to her own necklace. 'For luck,' she murmured.

Jemima looked into her deep brown eyes. 'For luck,' she responded.

They remained that way for a few moments; the only sound the distant shouts of the crowd in the square. Then Demetra grabbed Jemima's hand.

'Come on Jet,' she said, using the nickname she had for Jemima. 'We'll be late for the Reaping. I want to see how many people volunteer this year. I bet six.'

Jemima smiled at her girlfriend's effortless ability to make light of the situation and allowed herself to be pulled, grinning, towards the square.

**Male**

'Jaime. Jaime! JAIME!'

Jaime rolled over and opened his eyes. His sister Echo was standing in the doorway, her untidy brown hair, so much like his own, twisted out of her face, arms folded.

'It's time to get up lazy head,' she continued. 'It's a big day today.'

Jaime sat up, swinging his bare feet onto the thickly carpeted floor. He grinned at his sister.

'Yup. I get to watch yet another stupid guy get picked to go and fight in the Games and make a total idiot of himself. Honestly.' He shook his head. 'I bet I could do better.'

Echo's face slipped into a scowl She hated it when her brother was so arrogant, pretty much all the time now. He was only fifteen but he had all the pride and confidence of a fully grown Career. When she was his age, she'd been nowhere near as confident and it had probably been mostly luck that had allowed her to win her own Games, a fact that Jaime never let her forget. She glared at him.

'If you're so great, why don't you volunteer?' she asked, only half joking.

Jaime grinned insolently back at her. 'Maybe I will.'

Her scowl deepened even further and she turned away as he got out of bed. 'Breakfast in five,' she tossed back over her shoulder as she left his room.

Jaime was downstairs in three, hair carefully mussed up and grey eyes cold. He spared a grin for Rean, his little brother and grabbed two slices of toast from the plate on the side. As he stuck his feet into his shoes and made ready to leave, his father appeared in the kitchen doorway. Vic Fisher had won his own Games too and he was proud of Jaime for his ambition to do the same.

'See you later at the Training Centre Jaime,' he smiled.

Jaime nodded and back and he left the house, toast in hand, humming under his breath and breathing deeply in the warn sunny air.

He knew that Ream would be coming to the Reaping as well but his brother had his own friends and he didn't want his big brother to be hanging around. Besides, Jaime enjoyed the solitude sometimes.

As he neared the square he spotted Alex and Damien, two of his friends, walking together and laughing. He raised a hand in greeting but wasn't entirely surprised when he received no response. He'd become more and more obsessed with the Games recently and he hadn't exactly been modest about his progress in training. Still, he knew that he was good. Why shouldn't other people? He knew that not everyone liked him for it but he didn't care. He was from a Victor family. He would win his Games and then everyone would be his friend right?

He dismissed the worries from his mind and continued on towards the square.

**Reaping**

Jemima was stood in the crowd, her fingers interlinked with Demetra's, watching the stage. She wondered idly who would end up entering the Games this year. Her eyes scanned the eighteen-year-old section, watching the few girls who stood there. She wondered how many other people had realized how lucky people from District One were - if they didn't want to be Reaped, they didn't volunteer. She was content that she was safe and so she watched calmly as the Escort, Haytham, strode onto the stage.

He gave a thin smile to the watching crowd and turned immediately to the first glass ball.

'Ladies first.' He delivered the customary line with complete impassiveness as he withdrew a name slip. Unlike many other Escorts, he didn't mess around, adding drama. Instead he unfolded the scrap of paper and read the name in a strong, clear voice.

'Jemima Twillby'

Jemima felt her shoulders tense and her breath caught in her throat as she waited for the rush of volunteers to rescue her.

No sound came from the silent crowd.

She was gripping Demetra's hand tightly but somehow, impossibly, no one moved. She was stood, frozen, unable to believe this was happening. It was only when the Peacekeepers began to move through the crow towards her that she began the long walk through the crowd that parted before her. She could feel tears in her eyed but she blinked them away, keeping a calm and composed face.

Jaime watched the girl as she climbed the steps to the stage. He'd never seen her before but she was pretty, in a petite, delicate kind of way. Still, he could admire her later. Right now, he had a Games to volunteer for. He headed forward to the stage and reached the front of the crowd as Haytham read out the name.

'Jaime Fisher'

He was halfway onto the stage before the name registered. He grinned. It must be fate...or something. Evidently, he was destined for these Games. The various volunteers that had been heading towards the stage stopped as they saw him take his place beside Jemima. Several people in the crowd were murmuring amongst themselves and he smiled. The Fisher family were well know in District One and he wasn't surprised that most people seemed to know who he was. Even his partner had recognition in her grey eyes as she looked at him. Turning to look at her, he though he saw a flash of fear cross her face as she watched but it was gone, to be replaced with a smile. She shook his hand and then they were entering the Justice building and the doors slammed shut behind them.

**DISTRICT 2**

**Female**

_The little girl is borne along by the crowd as they surged along. She keeps a tight grip on her friend as the two of them worm their way through the mass of tightly packed bodies so they can see what is going on._

_When they reach the front of the crowd she sees that they have arrived at the station where a sleek Capitol train was just pulling in. She feels the crowd tense as a figure appears in the doorway, all Capitol style and wide smiles._

_'Ladies and Gentlemen on District Two, I present to you the Victor of the 115th annual Hunger Games - your very own Muscida Sever!'_

_The crowd around her erupts into cheers as a woman appears in the doorway. She is tall and strong, her dark hair cropped short and a broad grin on her face. The girl stares in wonder at the figure as she steps confidently from the train._

_'Hello District Two!' the woman yells, throwing her hands in the air._

_The crowd roars back even louder and the girl adds her own voice to the tumult, screaming at the top of her lungs. She doesn't know what it is about this woman that make her feel so alive. Perhaps it is the look in her eyes, perhaps the cool confidence with which she moves but everything about this woman calls out to the girl. _

_She wants to be like this woman. She wants to hear the crowd scream her name. She wants to win._

Whytt opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. The events of the dream had happened nine years ago but the memories were still as fresh as though it had been yesterday. Whytt's ambition to win the Hunger Games had been awakened then and had never wavered since.

She remembered the long arguments with her parents as she tried to persuade them that she wanted to train for the Games. She remembered how they had eventually given in, thinking it was only a phase that she'd grow out of. She remembered their disappointment when she did not. She remembered how she'd grown to love the feel of a spear in her hand, the surge of power in her muscles as she fought.

She was so lost in memories that she was out of the house before she realized it, heading towards the square. She was pulled sharply from her reminiscing, however, by a quiet little murmuring voice beside her.

'Hey Whytt. Are you going to volunteer today?' It was Kern, the boy who lived a few streets away from her. She always trained alone but it seemed that everywhere else she went he would follow her around, his chubby face frozen in permanent admiration. She sighed, annoyed but at the same time she couldn't help but feel slightly flattered that he bothered to talk to her when not many others did. Still, his constant friendliness irritated beyond belief.

'No Kern,' she said sarcastically, turning to him. 'All the times that I've said over this last year that I was going to volunteer were jokes. The fact that I don't joke about the Hunger Games has nothing to do with it.'

He looked so crushed that she felt guilty but she didn't let it show, instead turning and continuing to walk towards the square.

Her irritation at friendly people extended to the smiles that several of the other girls shot her way. She simply continued on, scowling at the ground and ignoring Kern as he stumbled along in her wake.

It was time to enter the Hunger Games.

**Male**

The sword whistled through the air as Octavian swung it round in an arc towards the other boy's neck. In a blur of metal, the smaller boy brought his own sword up, the two weapons connecting with a clang that jolted both boy's arms. Octavian grinned, completely lost in the brutal dance. The small boy threw a strike of his own, stabbing down towards Octavian's legs. He jumped back, never loosing his balance as he returned the blow, swinging his own sword round into the boys stomach. Again, the smaller boy seemed to block almost impossibly fast and his sword was already there. Too late, he realized it was a feint as Octavian twisted his own sword, bringing it to rest lightly on the other boys throat.

'Dead,' he smiled.

The other boy, Marc, grinned at him. The two brothers had fought regularly since they were both very young, disregarding the risks that practising with real swords brought. They were Careers, unkillable and invincible. It was obvious that Octavian was the better swordsman but that really wasn't surprising as he'd been dedicated to training for so many years. Still, Marc was one of the few fighters who could match him and, occasionally beat him. Not today though.

'Alright bug brother, you beat me,' Marc conceded. 'Three games to zero. Seems fair enough. I'd challenge you to a rematch but we should go.'

Octavian nodded and the two boys stowed away their swords and left the Training Centre. As they joined the stream of people heading towards the square, there was a shout behind them.

'Octavian! Marc! Wait for me!'

It was Antony, Octavian's other brother. He was still too young to enter the Games but that didn't stop him from always coming along to wish the boys luck. Antony hated the Capitol, a fact that he kept quiet in the Games-obsessed District 1 but that didn't stop him keeping his fingers crossed for his brothers.

Octavian stared around the square as he took his place in the crowd. He saw the Peacekeepers in their brilliant white uniforms. His father had once been a Peacekeeper and now trained new ones. Octavian knew that if he wasn't picked for the Games, he'd probably become a Peacekeeper like the rest of his family. He'd realized though, much as that was a pretty satisfactory job fo your life, there was something he wanted to be more.

He wanted to be a Victor and today it was time to do something about that.

**Reaping**

Whytt was stood in the crowd, her impatience rising. On the stage the Escort, Elizabeth, was coming to the end of a long and rambling speech about the glory of the Capitol blah blah blah. Finally she was finished and, flicking her black hair over her shoulder, she turned towards the glass ball holding the girls names with the traditional line, 'ladies first.'

Whytt tensed herself as Elizabeth unfolded the scrap of paper and read in a clear voice

'Emily Gold'

As the words left her lips, Whytt was already running, fighting her way through the crowd. To her left she saw another girl, sprinting for the stage and redoubled her efforts. The two of the broke into the clear space in front of the crowd together and there were now only a few metres to the stage. Whytt swerved off course, swept a leg round, knocking the girl's feet from under her and sending her sprawling into the path of a third girl who just broken free from the crowd. She too tripped but Whytt had felt someone behind her and kicked out, feeling her foot connect with something. She ran on, twisting free of a pair of hands as another girl tried to pull her back and reached the stage. Barely breathing hard after the long run she mounted the steps and took her place on the stage.

'I volunteer.'

Elizabeth smiled broadly at her.

'I take it then that you're not Emily?'

Whytt raised an eyebrow. 'No, really?' she asked sarcastically. She turned to face her District. 'Whytt Odinn.' she announced in a clear calm voice.

If Elizabeth was offended by the sarcasm, she didn't show it. Instead, she turned to the boy's ball and brought out the second piece of paper.

'Kern Harte.'

Whytt fought to keep her face impassive. _'Oh no, not Kern.'_ She needn't have worried however.

When Elizabeth had picked the slip of paper, Octavian had already been moving. By the time she read out the name, he was already at the front of the crowd and all he had to do was run across the empty space and backflip onto the stage. He flashed a confident grin at his district partner, watching the way she looked blankly back at him, her face impassive.

'Octavian Bates,' he too announced his name to the crowd and they erupted into cheers as the two tributes shook hands and were led away.


End file.
